100 lines
4.7 KiB
Markdown
100 lines
4.7 KiB
Markdown
%title It's Whitcomb's fault
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%date 2004-11-03 01:36:06
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:diary:livejournal:fossils:
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<details text="From Ginsberg."><summary>From Ginsberg.</summary>
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</details>
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America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
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America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
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I can't stand my own mind.
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America when will we end the human war?
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Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
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I don't feel good don't bother me.
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I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
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America when will you be angelic?
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When will you take off your clothes?
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When will you look at yourself through the grave?
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When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
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America why are your libraries full of tears?
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America when will you send your eggs to India?
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I'm sick of your insane demands.
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When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
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America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
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Your machinery is too much for me.
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You made me want to be a saint.
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There must be some other way to settle this argument.
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Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
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Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
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I'm trying to come to the point.
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I refuse to give up my obsession.
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America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
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America the plum blossoms are falling.
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I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
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murder.
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America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
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America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
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I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
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I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
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When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
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My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
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You should have seen me reading Marx.
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My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
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I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
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I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
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America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
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from Russia.
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I'm addressing you.
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Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
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I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
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I read it every week.
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Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
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I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
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It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
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producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
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It occurs to me that I am America.
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I am talking to myself again.
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Asia is rising against me.
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I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
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I'd better consider my national resources.
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My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
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an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
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twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
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I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
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my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
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I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
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My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
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America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
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I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
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automobiles more so they're all different sexes
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America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
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America free Tom Mooney
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America save the Spanish Loyalists
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America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
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America I am the Scottsboro boys.
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America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
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sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
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speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
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workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
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was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
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Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
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been a spy.
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America you don're really want to go to war.
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America it's them bad Russians.
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Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
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The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
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our cars from out our garages.
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Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
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auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
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That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
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Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
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America this is quite serious.
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America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
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America is this correct?
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I'd better get right down to the job.
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It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
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factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
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America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel. |